


And I Won't Let You Choke

by Feekins



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Animal Death, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crying, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Discovery, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Light Angst, M/M, Macro/Micro, Making Up, Miscommunication, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), Nausea, No Sex, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Discussions, Sharing a Bed, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Stomach Ache, Strangulation, The Fall (Good Omens), Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feekins/pseuds/Feekins
Summary: The eyes weren't the only serpentine trait Crowley retained regardless of what form he took. There were many - his strange tongue, his loose movement, his preference for warmer temperatures, his occasional hiss. Aziraphale was familiar with all of them, or at least, he thought he was. Even after 6000 years, the old serpent was full of surprises. This was fine. At least they were largely harmless surprises.Except when they weren't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Special thanks to the Ace Omens Discord, without whom this fic would never have come to fruition because I am a shy creacher. That's it. I cannot change this.
> 
> (2) Title taken from The Cave by Mumford and Sons.

Mice, he was used to. They were small, entertaining to track down, and the bookshop provided a nice, steady supply of them. Of course, just like he didn't _need_ to eat, Crowley didn't _need_ to keep picking them off (after all, Aziraphale was perfectly capable of redirecting wayward mice to his neighbors - and he did, the odd time one turned up in Crowley's absence). It just got to be his _thing_, his secret means of keeping himself sharp while avoiding boredom. It just so happened that, in doing so, he single-handedly kept the bookshop pest-free. There got to be a bit of pride in that.

The other part of it was like scratching an itch. Crowley would never admit it, but it felt _good_ to hunt and strike and squeeze to death and eat, leaving no trace of his unlucky prey behind. A clean kill, that was the goal, and for years, Aziraphale was none the wiser.

Then, a little over a decade and a half before the end of the world, he caught Crowley under the desk at the literal tail end of his latest successful hunt.

"Pray tell _what_, exactly, you have in your mouth?" Aziraphale asked, equal parts horrified and disapproving.

Crowley pulled a little further back into the shadows - an easy task at an eighth of his usual length. He shifted his jaw, closed his mouth over the mouse's hind legs. Its tail stuck out between his fangs. Anyone else happening upon the scene would have been _astounded_ by how very sheepish a snake was capable of looking. Aziraphale was just _galled_.

Then he felt rather guilty.

"I'm sorry, dear," he said softly, kneeling down and extending his hand. "I didn't mean to shout."

The snake eyed that perfectly-manicured hand warily, and began to coil himself up just out of Aziraphale's reach.

Aziraphale sighed, contrite.

"_Crowley_..."

Aww. Well then. When the angel used _that_ tone, Crowley wasn't exactly inclined to continue to refuse him - regardless of how embarrassed he was about being 'caught in the act,' as it were. After a moment's hesitation, Crowley came forward, wound his body around the other supernatural being's hand and wrist.

An apologetic smile, and Aziraphale stood.

"It's...well, I never expected this. That's all," he explained as he made his way back to the register.

There was a sudden scuffle, followed by the jangle of the bell on the door - the only human to peek into the bookshop all afternoon.

"Ah-! Mind how you go!" Aziraphale called after them just a moment too late. Oh, _bother_. Perhaps... Yes, it was a good day to close early, he thought.

The front door locked itself.

"It's just," the snake said at last, his voice muffled by how snugly his snout was settled into Aziraphale's palm, "nothing else feels like proper food, you know?"

"You've said, yes," Aziraphale nodded.

"It all feels _wrong_."

"I'm sure." A thoughtful pause. "Although...you know, _texture_ could be part of it."

"..._huh_."

The snake's head turned up, nudged between Aziraphale's thumb and index finger. It would have felt more like a tiny victory, pulling Crowley from an embarrassment-induced sulk, had Aziraphale not _also_ felt the mouse's tail drag out from his palm. He just barely managed not to grimace.

"It _could_, now that you mention it," said Crowley, now meeting Aziraphale's gaze.

"It would also explain why you prefer liquids," said Aziraphale.

"And ice cream. And pudding. And gelatin - unless it's one of those abominations the Americans were so keen on about fifty years back."

"Right." This time, Aziraphale let himself grimace. The way things were going, it was only a matter of time until he'd lose his appetite for the next week and, well. They couldn't have that. A little redirection, then - and something to make that blasted tail go away. Making for the modest kitchenette, Aziraphale managed a smile as he offered, "Cup of water? To, er...help your lunch down?"

Crowley, of course, didn't have eyelids in this form, yet Aziraphale had the _distinct_ sense that his eyes just widened.

"_Satan_, yes."

It wasn't too much longer before Crowley had done away with the tail, much to Aziraphale's relief. Still, something bothered him. It didn't matter that he'd situated himself back at his desk, hunkering down with a well-loved copy of _The Metamorphosis_ \- which just wasn't holding his attention. It didn't matter that Crowley was still a comfortable weight in his hand, preferring to remain almost entirely wound about it as he slurped and slurped away, his whole head dipped into the winged mug - and it was all _incredibly_ endearing. Nonetheless perplexed, Aziraphale watched Crowley drink - or at least, that's what he'd been doing before his eyes strayed to the swell of the undigested mouse.

"Don't like it?"

The slight squeeze Crowley gave his wrist was what got Aziraphale's attention. His eyes snapped to Crowley's - when had he finished with his water? - then back to the bulging bit of his body.

"Wh-? Don't like your-?"

"_No_, I don't care what you think about _that!_" Crowley snapped. He did, however, move onto the desk and proceed to coil himself in such a way that the rest of his body hid the only evidence of his recent snack.

"I mean me," he added with a squirm that definitely wasn't self-conscious. "Hunting."

"Oh, n-no. No, no. It's..._fine_, really," Aziraphale answered a little too quickly, too casually.

Then, Crowley gave him that _look_.

"Alright," Aziraphale admitted wretchedly, "if you _must_ know, the...killing and eating part is a bit much for me. Squeamish."

The snake was silent at first. This did nothing for Aziraphale's nerves. Despite 6000 years of friendship, in that moment, Crowley was impossible to read. Aziraphale was just beginning to worry he'd offended him when, at last, Crowley opened his mouth again.

"Then I'll only hunt when you're away."

"You don't have to do that," Aziraphale insisted guiltily.

How a snake was capable of shrugging without shoulders, he didn't know, but _damn_ if Crowley didn't do it anyway.

"Well, I'd _hardly_ starve - even if I _wanted_ to. You know that."

"I know, but-!"

"But _what_, then?" Crowley wasn't pressing Aziraphale, and there wasn't even the faintest hint of anger in his tone. He seemed more curious than anything - curious and open, to the point where he didn't hesitate to slide a little closer despite the fact that doing so exposed that scaly mouse-bump of his. He added, "It's not a problem, angel. Honest."

_Wasn't_ it, though? Finally putting up his book so he could wring his hands properly, Aziraphale shook his head, "I don't know, it just...doesn't seem fair to you."

Crowley cocked his head to the side - _Lord,_ but he could be _very_ emotive in this form when he wanted to be.

"How so?"

"Well... How to put it, er." A bit of fidgeting, during which Crowley made no move to rush him. Perhaps that's what helped the words come to Aziraphale as he carefully explained, "I'm not your...your _master_, am I? I'm not going to try to forbid you from doing...you know. What you do."

"Aziraphale," Crowley countered just as carefully, "don't think yourself a tyrant because I _want_ to _accommodate_ you."

Oh.

Oh, that made sense.

"But if it makes you feel better, you can think of it as an exercise in restraint," he added - yes, with a smirk, the wily old thing. "Think about it. A demon. Resisting his own temptation."

"_Really_," Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

Snakes didn't laugh, not in the usual sense, but _this_ one did as it slid over the side of the desk. The next thing Aziraphale knew, a very human-shaped Crowley was sprawled across his sofa. For a split second, Aziraphale's eyes fell to Crowley's stomach. It was surprisingly flat.

"Not to mention," Crowley continued, propping his feet up, "it's all very practical. Like the Arrangement - we keep out of each other's way. I do my thing," - he gestured to himself, then to Aziraphale - "_You_ don't witness things David Attenborough would kill a man to narrate."

With a disapproving snort, Aziraphale stood, picking up the mostly-empty mug.

"As long as you're happy, my dear boy," he sighed, though he couldn't even _hope_ to hide the fond note to his tone.

"As long as _you_ are."

Aziraphale smiled on his way to the sink. You could take the serpent out of the wild, but you couldn't take the wild out of the serpent, could you? Not that Aziraphale wanted to. It didn't matter what Crowley's eating habits were - Aziraphale wouldn't have him any other way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out this fic needed a little something between the first bit and the _exciting_ bit, so. Three chapters instead of two. Hope y'all enjoy - I had a lot of fun working out this middle piece.
> 
> Special thanks to everyone who's commented, kudos'd, and bookmarked thus far - and, again, to the Ace Omens Discord. Thanks for flailing with me over my snek fic and encouraging me to keep going. Y'all make me excited to keep writing and putting my stuff out there. :,D

Of course Crowley stayed true to his word.

Over the next several years, as per their little arrangement-within-the-Arrangement, not once did Aziraphale accidentally witness that which, in his opinion, belonged strictly within the confines of a National Geographic documentary. He only ever walked in on the aftermath, if one could even call it that. The bookshop was always _exactly_ the way he'd left it - Crowley _was_, after all, ever the discrete, efficient hunter. This meant Aziraphale never saw hide nor hair of the snake or its prey. It was probably for the best, though. He..._really_ didn't care to find Crowley in the middle of swallowing some poor creature whole again.

Then, there was the rare occasion Crowley was _not_ long gone after the hunt. He'd lie stretched across the entire length of the sofa, one or both feet propped up just like that first time, an arm flung haphazardly over his stomach, and the faintest, most satisfied little smile on his lips. Fast asleep. Fed. Content, as if all was right with the world - and indeed, in those moments, Aziraphale was almost certain it was.

That all changed once the Antichrist was born.

Naturally, they both became quite preoccupied. Keeping an eye on the Dowlings ate up most of Crowley's time in the early days. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was stuck at the bookshop, save for the occasional short trip for a minor miracle. The odd lunch did break up the monotony, at least. It wasn't long, though, before Aziraphale began to regard them with _other_ reservations.

Perhaps it was silly of him, being concerned about something of such little consequence. After all, it wasn't like it was a matter of life and death - again, they didn't _need_ to eat. Still, every time Aziraphale looked up from his near-clean plate to see Crowley with nothing but a cup of tea, coffee, or some form of alcohol at his place setting, he couldn't help but feel that the whole thing was _frightfully_ unbalanced. What's worse, _nothing_ assuaged this guilt. Aziraphale could coax Crowley into trying a bit of his crème brûlée. He could suggest they go out for ice cream this time. No matter what he did - and, again, surely he was just being ridiculous - Aziraphale couldn't help but worry whether or not Crowley was eating _enough_, or _at all_.

Of course, Crowley did still swing by the bookshop from time to time. It was there that Aziraphale tried his luck - but to no avail. Every time he stepped out for a quick 'errand,' Crowley was gone when he returned. Whether or not he'd done a little hunt-and-run was anyone's guess. At a loss, then, Aziraphale tried his best to put the whole matter out of mind.

He tried not to wonder how often Crowley was able to hunt once he settled in as Warlock's nanny.

He tried not to be too insistent on Crowley sampling something off his plate those times their clandestine meetings turned into impromptu lunches.

He tried _very_ hard not to give into the urge to will a little field mouse to mysteriously find its way to Nanny Ashtoreth's bedroom every now and then, just so she had the option of having _something_.

Years passed. Warlock - and Adam - turned eleven. Armageddon came, then didn't. Aziraphale and Crowley dealt with Heaven and Hell, respectively...and then, at last, they sat down to have some Very Frank, Very Important Conversations. Much of what they talked about was that which they already knew - it's just that they'd never before dared to put it all so bluntly. Overnight, then, the Arrangement reconfigured itself. Gone were stipulations on covering for each other from time to time, because now, they answered to themselves. The concept of Our Side, though, didn't change. It was, as ever, what they made of it - and at its core, it was made of an understanding that spanned millennia and yet _continued_ to elude concise description - and that was perfectly fine.

They'd always had a sneaking suspicion that their bond was, in and of itself, ineffable.

Aziraphale and Crowley's newfound freedom - from their former sides and from the threat of the world ending - had other benefits. All of the sudden, they had more breathing room than they could have ever imagined having. It gave them more than enough room to grow, and to learn - about themselves and each other.

It wasn't until the second day after the world didn't end that all concerns related to eating habits were eased away. That, too, became another Important Conversation - but only after Aziraphale woke up to Crowley crawling back into bed and greeting him with a soft, satisfied smile the likes of which he hadn't seen gracing his features in _entirely_ too long.

At last, Crowley was back to regularly menacing the bookshop's mouse population, starting with the three he'd just made breakfast out of.

"It's not..._too_ much, though, is it?" Aziraphale asked weeks later.

Crowley glanced up from his usual spot on the sofa. It was late September and the weather was beginning to cool down. Perhaps that was why, for this particular post-meal lounge, Crowley had pulled a throw blanket over himself - he'd always been quite sensitive to the shift in seasons.

"Too much what?"

"Well, the amount you're eating," Aziraphale replied. Needle touched vinyl, and from the record player came a light fluttering of woodwinds and strings. For some reason, he was in the mood for Holst - specifically _Mercury_. The recording didn't compare to the suite's first full performance back in 1920, but it satisfied Aziraphale's current earworm all the same.

Judging by the way Crowley's smile widened, he seemed to appreciate it, too.

"Is it a problem?" Crowley then asked with a genuine innocence - and so satisfied, sunk into the sofa. If it wasn't for their conversation, Aziraphale was sure he'd be slipping into another one of those naps he so loved to take following larger meals. Shaking his head in fond, amused answer, Aziraphale straightened. Once he set aside the record's jacket, he picked up a set of winged mugs - one white and one black, water and cocoa, respectively.

"Not at all," he said. "But it _is_ curious, I think. Since it's uncommon for you to stop at one nowadays."

As Aziraphale approached, Crowley moved so that he was sitting up just a little more, holding the throw blanket to himself all the while. When Aziraphale noticed this, he kept his eyes on Crowley's. Yes, _definitely_ self-conscious.

"I don't hunt _that_ often," said Crowley, eyebrow raised, more perplexed than defensive. "Wait, how do you know how many mice I've been eating?"

"You brag about it," said Aziraphale primly, "every time."

No immediate response from Crowley. Sheepishly, he accepted the white mug Aziraphale held out for him and took a long draught from it. It was a sort of ritual they'd gotten into: After every successful hunt, Aziraphale always got a cup of water ready, even if Crowley didn't always drink it. Of course, Aziraphale had no idea whether or not it actually helped the mice go down, but it _felt_ like he was being helpful, and Crowley certainly never complained. He _did_, however, _always_ make a point to report his number of kills - which were three this time, two last time, and three the time before that.

"In my defense," said Crowley when he came up for air he didn't necessarily need, "I've got a lot of catching up to do - haven't exactly had time for pest control in what? Six, seven years?"

That wasn't quite it and they both knew it, but Aziraphale didn't press the issue. A bit of posturing out of habit, that's all it was. Besides, it wasn't without a grain of truth. Settling down in his usual spot, chair pulled almost parallel to his desk, Aziraphale conceded, "Fair point - ticking clock and all."

Crowley's hum of agreement echoed into his mug. Peeking over the rim of his own, Aziraphale couldn't help but smile into his cocoa - his mannerisms really _were_ the same regardless of whether he was human or snake-shaped - until Crowley pulled a bit of a face as he lowered his mug again.

"Also tends to make one lose their appetite," he admitted, almost immediately amending, "If you're me, anyhow."

Inclining his head, Aziraphale made a small noise of interest. That made...a _great_ deal of sense.

"I never considered that," he said.

Unfortunately, the comfort Aziraphale could have drawn from this new knowledge was almost immediately sullied by guilt. How many times had he tried to force food on Crowley? How many spoonfuls, nibbles, _tiny little bites_ had been met with _actual_ reluctance - or worse, nausea? Stomach upset? Or was that even possible for demons...?

Back in the present, a content, healthy, but _very_ confused Crowley did a double take.

"Really? Could've _sworn_ I'd mentioned it."

Aziraphale shrugged, "Not that I can recall."

"I'm sorry, then. For not telling you sooner." The words came out so soft, so sincere, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel all the more guilty. Perhaps Crowley sensed this, because, drawing Aziraphale's attention back to him with a sharp breath before speaking, he added, "But in the interim, you _were_ very considerate. Which I appreciated - _and_ appreciate."

Then, with a knowing smile and a steady, golden gaze, Crowley brought his mug back to his lips for another sip. Like that, a weight lifted off of Aziraphale's shoulders. It was with a little wiggle that he cast a small, sheepish smile back.

"I can't help but worry."

So _easily_ Crowley sat there, his calm contrasting with Aziraphale's poorly-contained concern. For a moment, there was silence - if you didn't count Aziraphale sighing into his mug, sending steam up into his face. It was funny, he had the distinct feeling of being studied...

Sure enough, when Crowley spoke again, it was to observe - _not_ comment, _not_ speculate: "And me indulging now isn't helping."

"It's not that, it's..."

Words escaping him, Aziraphale sighed again. This wasn't just about Crowley's eating habits, he'd come to realize over the past few weeks. It was part of something greater, a _bigger_ uncertainty, something he hadn't thought too much about until he had _all the time in the world_ to. And it was ridiculous, probably. The _whole thing_ was. Crowley was a demon. His Fall might have changed a few things, but he and Aziraphale were of the same original stock, weren't they? Physically - _biologically_ \- their differences _couldn't_ be that great..._could_ they?

"Angel?"

When Aziraphale looked up at him, Crowley's head was tilted ever so slightly to one side, his expression one of mixed curiosity and concern.

On second thought, their conversations about the hunting and eating hadn't been all that bad. Aziraphale hadn't alienated Crowley, or offended him. What's more, Crowley didn't seem to mind talking about it, would _initiate_ conversations about it - so maybe, _just maybe_ this was okay, too.

Lowering his mug - using both hands to hold it a little more securely than necessary - Aziraphale let his forehead crease, let Crowley see the depth and complexity of his concern.

"There's just so much I don't know, isn't there? When it comes to your more serpentine qualities. I have a rough idea, but...I don't know, it doesn't feel like enough. And I'm not saying you _have_ to tell me _everything_. It's just...I have no point of reference." Aziraphale shrugged helplessly, sadly, "I don't _really_ know what's normal for you, or what to do if something isn't. _That's_ what worries me."

"_Angel..._"

Now, Crowley was sitting up fully. At some point, his mug had been set down before the register - far from any loose books or manuscripts, because water damage to the wood of the front desk was _infinitely_ more forgivable than water damage to first editions over a century old. Of _course_ Crowley paid attention to these things - and with _almost_ as much care as that with which he gazed back at Aziraphale. He leaned forward a little, the throw blanket falling to his lap. Aziraphale was too fixed on Crowley's eyes, on the idea he could see formulating just behind them, to notice.

"Tell you what," said Crowley, "If ever there's something wrong with me, you'll be the first to know. Then, I can walk you through what _I_ know to help me get back to normal."

The beginnings of a smile, and the light warmth of relief, shone on Aziraphale's face. There was still a good bit of uncertainty there, but it was a start.

"Could we also-?" A split second of hesitation, overcome with an encouraging nod from Crowley, and Aziraphale said, "Maybe you could tell me about any previous incidents you've had, so that I can at least be prepared."

Narrowed eyes. For a moment, Aziraphale worried he'd overstepped - until Crowley leaned forward a little further and extended a hand.

"Only if you promise not to laugh."

...ah, but he drove a hard bargain. Aziraphale chewed his lip - just for effect, mind you - and then, once he decided he'd left Crowley hanging long enough, he leaned forward and took his hand.

"That depends."

"Fair," Crowley grinned.

The next thing they knew, seconds felt stretched to hours. Distantly, Aziraphale was aware of the way he was pulled forward just a little more as Crowley gently, so gently tugged his hand closer, began to lift it, draw it to himself...only to pause, eyes flickering, uncertain, between Aziraphale's hand and face.

"Can I...? Kiss your hand?"

And the fond warmth Aziraphale felt for him, all but glowing in his chest, might as well have been the _sun_.

"No one's stopping you, dearest."

It was the same warmth with which Crowley then pressed smiling lips to plump fingers.

To be sure, this wasn't their first kiss. Over the centuries, little pecks on the cheek were the standard greeting for many cultures across Europe. Before that, there was Israel and Iran. Hand kissing, meanwhile, had only really been a thing when they met out in public, a bodice hugging whichever of Crowley's curves were fashionable at the time, his skirts billowing, following his every move - and oh, but what kind of gentleman would Aziraphale have been to refuse a lady's hand?

Yes, where greeting kisses were concerned, they had _ample_ experience - even if the human obsession with putting one's lips on another's or on different body parts or inanimate objects _did_, at times, strike them as odd.

This was different.

This was...something else.

_This_...was something Aziraphale _looked forward_ to getting used to.

For now, though, it was with a tiny squeeze that, oh so reluctantly, Crowley released his hand, breaking eye contact and awkwardly clearing his throat as he sat back, fidgeting with the throw blanket. They both pretended not to notice the way Aziraphale, meanwhile, edged his chair closer to the sofa.

"Right," Crowley began with a forced casualness. "So, go on. Ask me anything."

Aziraphale blinked once. Twice. Furrowed his brow. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Shifted in his seat. Suddenly found it difficult to keep looking Crowley in the eye because of the increasing discomfort and worry and _fear_ he saw in them. Still, despite his own earlier concern, Aziraphale was drawing a blank - and, when his attention strayed down to his lap, to his hands, to the spot Crowley had kissed...his mouth crumpled.

"Angel?"

Nothing.

Little spasms plucked at Aziraphale's chest.

"Angel, are...? Are you alright?"

Then, just as the floorboards creaked from Crowley moving to stand, Aziraphale's laughter broke free from its confines. It was with an almost-snort that, a moment later, Crowley began to snicker as well.

"What?" he said. "What's so funny?"

6000 years and they were _still_ so utterly helpless, weren't they?

Aziraphale shook his head, wiping an amused tear from his eye.

"There is a..._slight_ chance...that you just kissed my questions into nonexistence!"

"Well, that's alright," Crowley grinned. He'd settled back again, sat there watching Aziraphale with such adoring, near-bashful amusement, it made Aziraphale's heart swell. "I'm sure they'll rematerialize."

"But - wait, wait, I'm trying to be serious," Aziraphale giggled, making Crowley laugh _properly_ as he attempted to rein himself in. For now, there was at least _one_ thing they _needed_ to clear up. Setting aside his mug, Aziraphale managed not to smile _too_ much as he asked, "But-! Crowley, are you _sure_ there isn't...? I'd _hate_ to accidentally offend you with-!"

"You won't!" He said it so gently yet with such _confidence_ that it stilled the residual chuckles in Aziraphale's chest. Crowley reassured him, shifting like he wanted to reach out to him again, "It's okay. I promise, when it comes to this, there's _nothing_ you can ask me that will offend me."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely." Twitching fingers, and then, Crowley extended his hand again, and Aziraphale took it without hesitation. Crowley smiled, gave his fingers a little squeeze. "Whatever your worry - whenever you remember it - ask. I'll answer."

Such _care_, so ready to comfort.

How _strange_. Aziraphale could have _sworn_ he'd been sitting, yet now, there he was, stood before the couch practically knee-to-knee with Crowley, who gazed up at him with such an _impossible_ softness - so much so that part of Aziraphale decided to never try to imagine what Crowley might have looked like as an angel ever again, because nothing he could ever come up with would compare to the beauty sitting right here, right now, right in front of him.

And _god_, but the quiet _hope_ in those eyes...!

Plump fingers squeezed ever so tenderly around a leaner set.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Aziraphale?"

So silly, feeling this way _now_, of all times - but as they held one another's gaze, something seemed to finally, _finally_ fall into place in Aziraphale's mind.

No more unspoken concerns.

No more hesitation.

No more hiding.

Perhaps this _was_ the perfect time, after all.

A grinning chuckle, flutteringly nervous despite himself. Lightly, so lightly, Aziraphale brought his other hand up to Crowley's cheek, thumb tracing bone.

"Forgive me if...if this seems sudden, or _spontaneous_, but my dear, I think I would..._very much_ like to kiss you now. On the lips."

Golden eyes went wide. An assortment of interesting sounds spilled from Crowley's mouth like a teenager dropping a heart-shaped box on Valentine's Day - which only had Aziraphale grinning all the wider even _before_ Crowley scrambled to his feet, the throw blanket falling to the floor.

"Wuh, I-? _Y-Yes!_ Please."

A little laugh that wasn't nervous...and they smushed noses. Shared laughter, apologies, a shift in angle, and at last, their lips connected. It was but the gentlest brush, just the slightest bit unsure until something _clicked_ and Aziraphale felt Crowley smiling against his lips as they eased into each other, all their centuries-long worries fading away.

The gentle, sweet press of lips on lips, at once relieved and reverent and adoring and hopeful and _home_.

There were no fireworks, no passions all aflame - but from the record player, despite it being a different movement _entirely_, there came the sweeping strains of Aziraphale's favorite part of _Jupiter_.

It was, by all accounts, the best first _proper_ kiss they could have had.

Once they reluctantly parted, Crowley wavered a little on the spot, instinctively grabbing hold of Aziraphale's arm for balance - but he never broke eye contact, couldn't stop smiling.

"_Shit_," he breathed, dumbstruck, "I need to make you laugh _far_ more often."

In response, _of course_, Aziraphale did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The musical suite mentioned above, if you're unfamiliar, is Gustav Holst's _The Planets_. The specific movements mentioned are _Mercury, the Winged Messenger_ and _Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity_. You'll know Aziraphale's favorite part of the latter when you hear it - it's _ridiculously_ romantic!
> 
> Anyhow. If you have a moment, would you mind letting me know what you think of this fic so far? It's shifted and grown so much from when I first plotted it out, I'm really having fun writing it, and I hope y'all are enjoying the ride, too!
> 
> Now, to get that last chapter out before Thanksgiving...!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...lol so THAT didn't happen.
> 
> To those who're following this, thank you for your patience. Thank you also to everyone who's commented since I posted Ch2! Time and time again, you've made me smile and bumped up my inspiration and motivation to keep right on truckin' with this fic. Most importantly, you've reminded me that I DO have an audience who WANTS to hear my story, and with how much I second-guess my work? That reaffirmation helps A LOT. :,D
> 
> ANYHOW. I said before that this would be the last chapter and, well...that's changed. Again. At this point, I don't know how many more chapters this fic will end up being - just that there's a LOT more I want to cover than I initially thought I would. It's really become a monster of a fic for me in the best way possible! I'm having a real blast with it - my only hope is that y'all are, too! If you would, please let me know what you think about how it's going so far. I really do think you're going to like what I have in store for y'all in the upcoming chapters, which I'll do my best to put out every month or two from now on.
> 
> Again: Thank you, dear reader, for giving this fic a chance. Now, let's see what our dear Ineffables have gotten up to today...

Physical affection - something they'd danced around since their first proper discussion about their relationship. Even now, after their first kiss on the lips, it was both an excited and anxious thrill in Aziraphale's mind. The closer night crept toward dawn, though, the more he realized he _knew_. He knew as surely as the sun rose that, as big a step as this was, it was all still _them_. It was evolution, a natural progression - from the fleeting wartime brush of fingers so many decades ago, to holding hands on the bus from Tadfield, to kissing against a backdrop of gentle-giant swells of cellos...to the head of red hair now resting in the angel's lap. So far he and Crowley had come together, such a _journey_ they were on...

Rustling blankets - the first time Crowley had moved in hours. It started with a foot. Then, the slight bend of one knee. Then, air tight in his throat, Crowley rolled his lower half sideways, one arm still pinned to his chest while the other curled a little tighter around...not an extra pillow, for once, but Aziraphale's legs. As if the demon could physically cling to sleep - or, barring that, perhaps his angel could guide him back to the land of dreams.

The urge to reach out and just _hold_ was overwhelming.

A fond smile, a lilting name, more breath than whisper: "_Crowley_..."

No answer.

"Crowley, my dear..."

A whine - pathetic, petulant, _precious_ \- earning a soft chuckle and a careful hand in that mess of red hair.

The angel teased, "Sleep isn't starting to escape you, is it?"

Crowley's grumbled reply was lost in the blankets, his face pressed stubbornly into the top of Aziraphale's thigh. Then, those fingers in his hair began to move, and with a deep sigh, the demon melted - not unlike his partner's heart.

New as the territory was, it was somehow familiar...and the morning after their first kiss, Aziraphale and Crowley were taking to it like ducks to swimming. Yes, physical affection like this - the warmth of his fingers at Crowley's scalp, and the loving _leisure_ of it all, absently carding through Crowley's hair, watching him attempt to drift off again - it wasn't just _okay_ or _allowed_, Aziraphale realized. It was wanted, _appreciated_ \- and he looked forward to giving Crowley all that he wanted and more, all in their own time.

Downstairs and toward the back of the bookshop, the grandfather clock struck on the hour. Neither angel nor demon counted the chimes. Crowley wasn't coherent enough to care to, and Aziraphale just..._couldn't_. Not when he was so focused on the demon in his lap, on every content, happy breath and tilt of the head into his touch. Perhaps...yes, just _one_ whole day spent in bed wouldn't hurt.

The outside world was beginning to rouse. The din of traffic - automotive, on foot, and everything in between - blearily bumbled its way up to its typical early morning concentration. Still, it all seemed disconnected, somehow removed. Even the blare of passing police sirens was near-muted. Of course, this may or may not have had something to do with the slight, unconscious exertion of either angelic or demonic will, or that of both. Crowley didn't stir much either way. He only leaned ever more into Aziraphale's hand until, in response to that insistence, those dull but perfectly-manicured nails rasped pointedly through the shorter hair at the base of the demon's skull. The resulting gratified rumble Aziraphale felt against his thigh was enough to make him laugh - softly, though, so as not to disturb Crowley too much. There was a saying about this sort of thing, wasn't there? Just with a different animal. In any case, thought Aziraphale, right now, he was all too happy to let sleeping snakes lie.

Another rumble against his thigh, but this time, the angel felt the movement of lips along with it. Gently, he prompted, "Say that again?"

Crowley didn't - not at first. With a high, strained noise, he arched his back, let go of Aziraphale so that he could stretch out his arm, his legs stiffening out straight behind him...and then, he went limp again. As an afterthought, he drew his other arm to his chest and flopped fully onto his side. At last, Aziraphale could see his face. There were impressions across his forehead and cheek left by folds in the blankets, yet Aziraphale could tell, could see _so plainly_ how Crowley's brow was completely lax, devoid of even the slightest hint of tension. His smile was similarly easy, and impossibly soft.

"I _said_," Crowley slurred, too sleepy for proper enunciation, "what's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing..."

Yellow eyes opened. They looked _exactly_ the way Aziraphale remembered them that day on the Garden wall - as inhuman as they could get - the way they _always_ got when Crowley forgot himself. Knowing as his gaze was, though, it was still distant and a little dazed. He never _had_ been much of a morning person. He so enjoyed it, didn't he, though, clinging onto that slow, sleepy feeling for a while... Part of Aziraphale selfishly hoped this part of Crowley's nature wouldn't change - for another century or two, at least. He couldn't help it - half-awake Crowley was downright _adorable_, not to mention _incredibly_ difficult to deny for long.

Fond, gentle fingers continued to play through tousled red hair.

"I suppose it wouldn't make much sense, would it?" Aziraphale mused, voicing the first lazy thought to cross his mind. "You sleeping with your eyes open."

Yellow eyes crinkled a little at their outer corners.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because _snakes_ do."

A thoughtful hum from Crowley, his smile fading the tiniest bit as his eyes drifted shut. Poor thing, so sleepy...

"...But I'm not _really_ a snake, you know."

"No?" Aziraphale quirked his head, part genuinely inquisitive and part playing to his role as student, even though Crowley wasn't watching at the moment. For some reason, he was a little put out when the demon shook his head.

"No. I'm just..._cast_ as one. As it were."

"Ah."

That's when Aziraphale noticed it: All around them, something unsaid hung in the air. It hung in such a way - with the _faintest_ undercurrent of reticence - that he felt it best not to press Crowley. With a slow breath, the angel quashed the stirring urge to worry. After all, like their confessions and their kisses, _surely_ it would come when it was good and ready. Or it wouldn't, which was also fine. They were allowed to have their secrets. At the same time...well, Crowley _did_ say he could ask, didn't he? Oh, but Aziraphale was quibbling. Nothing, it was _nothing_, and it wouldn't do either of them any good, him worrying himself in circles like this.

..._worrying_...

A little gasp, not entirely feigned, drew Crowley's attention back to the angel.

"That reminds me..." Trailing off for a moment, Aziraphale then made a show of dismissing the thought. "Well. Later."

"What?" That smile came back, small but amused as now _Crowley_ played along. Always with the games, they were, knowing _exactly_ what the other was playing at and pretending they didn't. It was really quite the enjoyable pastime, especially now that they didn't have to concern themselves with such things as _head offices_ and _plausible deniability_. What _couldn't_ be denied - not that Aziraphale had any intention to, now that he remembered them - was the things that came to the angel's mind in their stead.

"It's one of those questions I have - about you, and how serpent-like you are," he explained...and then added, playing coy, "Of course, it can wait until you're more-!"

"I'm awake _now_." As if to demonstrate this, a bemused Crowley shifted again, rolling fully onto his back and lacing his fingers across his chest, and yet...it _still_ seemed a chore to keep his eyes even halfway open.

Aziraphale couldn't resist.

"Yes, but can you _think_ straight?" A question that was equal parts caring and teasing - and judging by the sneaky little smile growing on Crowley's face, _his_ reply was the latter.

"Like a Möbius strip."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, "There's nothing straight about that, Crowley."

Promptly, the demon blew a raspberry. "Shows what _you_ know."

"Does it?"

"You jussst..." And now, Crowley unfolded his arms, held his hands above him as he tried - and, after some fiddling, _succeeded_ at - making a Möbius strip with his thumb and index fingers. "Listen, y'draw a line on it, yeah? All the way around. And it _connects_."

Sound explanation, perhaps, yet Aziraphale shook his head. "But the strip is still _curved_."

"Still a _line_. 'N _straight_, all one surface."

"Fine, _so_..." It was tempting to prolong the banter. Perhaps they'd pick it up later - the only reason Aziraphale now conceded defeat was because he didn't want to lose his question again. With a chuckle, then, Aziraphale reached down to tug the topmost blanket up over the demon's chest once his arms flopped back down atop it. "Specifically about your sight. I'm curious, is it...? Can you see well, or...?"

"Well _enough_."

Not the kind of answer he was looking for, so Aziraphale gave a long-suffering sigh. It was mostly for show, and to hide his amusement - sleepy though Crowley's tone was, the playfulness to it made it all too clear Aziraphale wasn't the _only_ one up for more of their usual back-and-forth.

"I'm _serious_, Crowley," the angel gently insisted. He had to at least _try_ to keep them on-topic. "I know... Well, they rely on smell to hunt, don't they? And I'm _sure_ I've heard somewhere that snakes have poor vision."

A far-off, contemplative look crossed Crowley's face. He regarded Aziraphale with a frown that wasn't sad. For some reason, then, Aziraphale felt a little too _seen_ and was struck with the need to fill the silence.

"That's, er, not to say it _seems_ like you do. Quite the opposite seems true, but I suppose you can't exactly miss what you don't-!"

"Angel."

Crowley's eyelids still drooped and his voice was still sleep-soft, yet something about it - about the way he said the old term of endearment - cut through the self-consciousness like a hot knife through butter. It made meeting that intent yellow gaze a little easier. Both unnerving and heartwarming, these moments when Aziraphale knew Crowley saw right through him...

"Yes, my dear?"

"What if I...!" A wide yawn bustled its way out of the demon, had him pulling the blanket up over his mouth to cover it - and Aziraphale allowed himself to relax at this very _human_ moment, eased by it and warmed by the conscious effort Crowley put forth to drag himself a little further out of his tired fog. Rearranging a little as he cleared his throat, Crowley started over - as cool as if his self-interruption hadn't happened. "Angel, what if I told you about what I can see right now?"

"If...what, now?"

A smile, slow and fond. A lean, black-nailed hand fidgeted - hesitation in the face of something new, something _sorely_ wanted for _so_ long - and then, it sought out one of Aziraphale's.

"You're worried about me," said Crowley, "about things you don't know. What if I changed that by describing what I'm seeing at the moment?"

And already, that one little worry was fading away. Perhaps it _was_ as easy as that - Aziraphale voicing a concern, and the two of them getting right to the bottom of it. It would never cease to humble him and touch his heart, the way Crowley just kept _giving_ \- idle conversation, a listening ear, another perspective, simple companionship, a rescue, a reprieve from Heaven's demands, an indulgent miracle or two or a thousand, and so much more. Truly, Aziraphale didn't know, didn't want to _think_ about where he'd be without him, what would happen if they didn't have each other, because this? _This right here_ \- the two of them, an angel and a demon on a side of their own, curled up together in a cozy bedroom in a flat above a dingy old Soho bookshop - _was their reality_.

Funny, wasn't it, how a duty-shirking Principality could end up being the luckiest, most blessed angel to ever exist?

With a soft, loving, appreciative smile, Aziraphale idly aligned his fingers with Crowley's.

"An impromptu game of I Spy?"

"If you'd like," Crowley answered.

Their fingers interlaced, and Aziraphale nodded.

"Go on, darling - you start."

Even funnier, though, was the fact that a fallen angel, the Serpent of Eden, managed to wind up _so well-off_, everything he ever wanted gazing down at him, adoring and attentive, eager to learn more about parts of him that _he himself_ didn't know quite everything about. There was, of course, only one way to find out.

Grinning as he willed himself a little more awake, Crowley cast his eyes around the room.

"Right. I see..."


End file.
